


The Stories We Tell to Save the Truth

by jujitsuelf



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Major Character Death but only due to natural causes i.e. Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujitsuelf/pseuds/jujitsuelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two older men who lived at the end of the street were kind of legendary with the neighborhood kids...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stories We Tell to Save the Truth

Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended 

Thanks to Cougar's_Catnip and Mary for the read-throughs and reassurance that this isn't totally awful.

***

The two older men who lived at the end of the street were kind of legendary with the neighborhood kids. 

One of them was a real crusty old curmudgeon, who regularly yelled at people, child and adult alike, for even the most minor of infractions, such as breathing near his garden gate. His waistline was spreading a little and his hair was receding at an alarming rate. The other was far more easy going, and thus the kids’ favorite. Dark, wildly eccentric hair sprang up at improbable angles from his scalp, mostly black, but streaked with silver in a way that made some of their moms wistfully sigh about him looking ‘distinguished’. His lazy, drawling voice, California accent still discernable, often entranced the youngsters, telling stories of his time in the Air Force, the adventures he’d had and friends he’d made. 

A lot of the kids noticed that whenever Mister John, the nice one, mentioned meeting friends, he’d glance at the other man, Mean Doctor Rodney, (oddly, he seemed to revel in his nickname) and smile in a weird way. Most of the children had no idea how to interpret these smiles, but some of the older ones saw the fondness in it and wished their own parents still looked at one another that way.

Sometimes, if the kids pleaded and cajoled Mister John for long enough, and if the sun was shining, he was always happier when it was warm, he’d tell them made up stories of far off galaxies and wormholes and the mythical lost city of Atlantis. Weirdly, every time he started in on one of these stories, Mean Doctor Rodney would turn a little purple and splutter things like, ‘classified information’ and ‘no idea of proper boundaries’ and ‘oh for God’s sake, that’s not how wormhole travel works, shut up and let me explain’. 

Mister John would always include himself and Mean Doctor Rodney in the made up stories, making them the heroes of the ‘Atlantis Expedition’. They met life-sucking alien vampires, friendly humans who lived in the distant Pegasus Galaxy, dangerous alien robots he called Nanites, they were tiny and could swarm together to assume any form they wanted, even human. 

Mean Doctor Rodney would splutter again and smack Mister John upside the head and say, ‘no way, you can’t say stuff like that’ and sometimes, ‘Jesus, John, did you learn anything at MIT, no that’s not how Nanites work, it’s all in the coding, let me explain, kids, listen to me...’ And Mister John would smile and lean back in his chair and let one of the younger kids crawl up into his lap. Listening to Mean Doctor Rodney rant about the importance of being extremely clear in the coding you use when programming Nanites seemed to be the best thing in the world to him, as his happy little smile never slipped, not even when Emmy Green accidentally pulled some of his chest hair out. 

As the kids grew older, some of them listened more closely to the stories and wondered how Mister John came up with them. They also wondered why Mean Doctor Rodney still threw anxious glances over his shoulder every time Mister John started telling one. After much discussion around campfires and in darkened bedrooms during sleepovers, it was decided that Mister John and Mean Doctor Rodney were actually super secret spies who had been sent into space by the government and were now on the run with whatever they found out there. Although, they didn’t seem to be running very far, as one kid pointed out, they’d been living in that same house for almost seven years. 

Either way, it didn’t really matter, the stories were still awesome and if, even for a moment, some kids wondered whether there might be any sliver of truth in them, they never voiced that theory aloud. Mean Doctor Rodney had drilled into them the importance of evidence, ‘please, you’ll never get anything published if it’s just hearsay and dreams. Hard, empirical evidence, that’s what you need, or the scientific world will just laugh you out of the door and back into obscurity. And in obscurity, no-one wins a Nobel.’ And anyway, how could Mister John be a spaceship pilot? (He always called the ships ‘puddlejumpers’, much to Mean Doctor Rodney’s snorted disgust.) He was far too laid back to fly anything, he liked surfing and ferris wheels and got really excited over college football, for goodness sake.

On their first days at high school, every kid dropped by the house to see Mister John and Mean Doctor Rodney. (Or as he was known to everyone now, MDR.) Everyone felt better having seen them, as manic as MDR got sometimes, between them the two men managed to radiate an air of contentment and warmth that soothed even the worst nerves.

When Stephen Wilkinson bounced into their house waving a report that said he was showing promise at science, MDR visibly perked up and beamed like a proud father. 

“Right, from now on, do not bother asking your parents for help with any homework with even the slightest connection to any science based subject. You come straight to me, understand?”

Stephen had gulped and nodded, but with MDR’s help was always top of the science class, and aced physics on a regular basis, at times bamboozling his teachers with the scientific journals and equations he cited in his homework.

For all his aging-surfer boy looks and drawling voice, Mister John was a useful man to know as far as homework went too. MDR took great pleasure in pointing out to random strangers that not only was Mister John ‘hot’, he also had two Masters degrees, one of which was in Applied Mathematics. The other was Aeronautics, but MDR didn’t really think that meant anything, he said it was the same kind of voodoo as medicine. If Mister John had really wanted to know what made planes fly, ‘he should have studied physics, like any normal person.’ The kids didn’t mind so much, as any math problem led them straight to Mister John and he was always more than happy to help. As a result, the ‘end of the street kids’ as they were unofficially known, were always at the top of the math classes.

Time rolled onward and the kids discovered boys, and girls respectively. The first time a girl broke Carl Bennett’s heart by refusing to go out with him, Mister John sympathized and took him to get ice cream. Sarah Walker’s boyfriend cheated on her and the day after the kid’s car mysteriously had a catastrophic engine failure that melted most of the radiator and carbs. MDR never took credit for it, but strutted around looking proud for a few days, while Mister John smirked slyly.

Prom came and went, and none of the kids would go anywhere until their outfits had received the seal of approval from Mister John. (MDR was known for his utter lack of dress sense, and therefore ignored. Mister John said it was because all his brain cells were too busy being brilliant to notice what he was wearing.)

With the end of high school came the end of a little era for the end of the street kids. For the first time they’d all be heading their own ways. Most were going to college, their good grades having secured them the best offers of anyone in their year. 

Two of the boys were making noises about joining the Air Force. Mister John took them aside and had a very serious conversation that left them both thoughtful and pale. When asked what he said, they replied, “Just that we should remember that planes come down as well as go up. And that you never, ever leave anyone behind, regardless of the consequences.” 

Both boys were serious and quiet for a week or so afterward, as was Mister John. He told them a story about a Lieutenant, attacked by the Wraith, the vicious alien vampire creatures of the Pegasus Galaxy. Young Lieutenant Ford didn’t die, but grew addicted to the enzyme the Wraith used to keep their victims alive long enough to feed on.

Mister John’s eyes were very far away when he said that he and MDR had done everything they could to find Ford, but still, no-one really knew what had happened to him. MDR rested a hand on Mister John’s shoulder then, and muttered, “Stop. You’ve been beating yourself up about this for long enough. Let it go. Ford wouldn’t blame you. He knew exactly what he was doing.” Mister John nodded and smiled, but MDR’s hand didn’t leave his shoulder. Another one of those almost painfully fond looks shot between them, and some of the kids wondered whether they’d ever find someone to love the way the two men seemed to love each other.

Tony MacLean’s dad was beating up on his mom again. With his scrawny five feet seven inch frame, Tony couldn’t do much about it without getting thumped for his trouble. He miserably told Mister John what was happening. That night Mister John and MDR showed up at Tony’s house and made it clear to Tony’s dad exactly what would happen if he laid a finger on either him or his mom ever again. Apparently there was even a PowerPoint presentation to explain exactly what damage Mister John’s baseball bat could do.

One by one the kids moved away from the quiet, anonymous suburb. Some only went a few miles, not willing to leave the cozy normality of the area they’d grown up in. Some went clear across the country, college and jobs proving to be irresistible lures. But none of them forgot Mister John and MDR. Every Christmas and birthday, their mantelpiece in the house at the end of the street would groan under the weight of cards and little gifts, letting them know that they were remembered.

****

It was a dark, appropriately overcast day when the now grown up kids all came back to the quiet street. Mister John’s hair had suddenly changed from black, streaked with silver, to white, liberally shot with black. He stood in his living room, back straighter than any of the kids had ever seen before. Just for that day, he looked like the officer he’d once been. The house was full of people, milling, talking quietly, swapping stories and memories of childhood days spent on those very floorboards. But without the quicksilver tongue and biting sarcasm of MDR, it was empty, too quiet, already a house ready to fall into ruin.

Stephen, the boy who’d so excited MDR with his talent at science, walked hesitantly up to John, and cleared his throat. John blinked a few times, swallowed and nodded. 

“Hi, Stephen.”

“Hi. Um. How are you doing?”

John blinked again, which was answer enough to a stupid question. Obviously he was quietly falling apart, his life ripped out from under him in the time it took Rodney’s heart to stop beating. But, John had never been good at saying things, Stephen had heard Rodney complain about it often enough. He could tell stories and laugh and crack terrible jokes all day long, but he managed to say a lot without mentioning anything truly important.

“Um, John,” he almost said ‘Mister John’, before catching himself. “Can we talk? Somewhere quieter?”

John’s eyes told him that from now on this would always be the quietest house in the street, but he simply nodded once and led the way into the kitchen.

Wishing he could forget this and just go home, Stephen said softly, “I know this is the wrong time to talk about stuff like this, but, I kind of need to. Er, I work for a division of the Air Force now. Well, it’s a separate agency but it’s Air Force funded. Um, I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but, do the letters SGC mean anything to you?”

John smiled unexpectedly, the lines around his eyes far deeper than Stephen remembered. “I wondered how long it would take. Knew sooner or later they’d poach you.” The smile vanished. “You shouldn’t be here. And you certainly shouldn’t be talking about the SGC. They’ll know, they’re the kind of people who always know. It’s not safe, too much stuff they deal with is classified.”

“I had to come,” Stephen protested. “I mean, MDR...” he trailed off, tears prickling at his eyes. 

John breathed deeply and didn’t say a word.

“Anyway,” Stephen went on, shoving grief ruthlessly aside. “I just need to know. Those stories you used to tell us, Pegasus, wormholes, the Wraith. How much of that was real?”

“If you work for the SGC, you already know,” John replied imperturbably.

“Yeah,” Stephen wiped sweat from his upper lip. “All of it.”

John didn’t say a word, but watched him calmly, suddenly a man who has nothing in the world left to lose.

“Why?” Stephen said softly. “Why the stories? It’s so far beyond classified, it’s just not funny. And you told a bunch of kids everything.”

John’s smile was sad, too sad to belong on his still handsome face. “Rodney asked me the same thing the night I told you guys the first story. So I’ll give you the same answer I gave him. ‘Cause I’m selfish.”

“Selfish?” Stephen raised his eyebrows, mystified.

John leaned back against the counter, his shoulders slumping into their usual slouch. “Yeah. Look around. This right here is everything in the world I’ve got. Had, gone now. No kids, no family to pass stuff on to. Just me and Rodney. An’ that was enough. Till all of a sudden you guys started showing up and it kinda hit me. When I’m gone, nobody’ll know a thing about what we did. Like you say, everything about Atlantis is buried in so much Air Force encryption, it won’t be de-classified for God knows how long. I don’t know, just seemed, wrong.” He shrugged. “Somehow, if even one of you kids remembered the stories, maybe used ‘em as bedtime stuff for your own little ones, maybe it’d make it all worthwhile.” 

He suddenly looked old, and Stephen realized that in all the time he’d known John and Rodney, he’d never once asked how old they actually were. John spoke again, his voice scratchy and low, full of memories. “Best friends I ever made were the people I went to Atlantis with. And so many of ‘em didn’t come back. You have any idea how terrifying it is to be in a whole other galaxy?” 

Stephen shook his head, he knew the mechanics, knew how they’d managed to travel to Pegasus, but now, without a viable power source, it was all just theories. Nobody would be able to step through the Stargate into another part of the universe until a miracle happened and a fully charged ZPM dropped into their laps.

John didn’t seem to notice him, he went on talking softly, absently, as though he’d been storing this up for a long time, rehearsing the words over and over. “Elizabeth, Carson, more Marines and foreign soldiers than I can even remember. And Ford. God, Aiden Ford. You know, I think time in Pegasus runs in parallel to time here, so technically, he could still be alive. I guess he’d be into his fifties by now, but still, he was always a tough little bastard. If anyone could have survived, it’d be him. And he’s been on his own, ‘cause we left him behind. I left him behind. I left so many of my friends in another galaxy and there’s no way I can get back to ‘em.”

Stephen was horrified to see tears shining in John’s clear hazel eyes. He reached out a hand to pat John’s shoulder, thought better of it and just shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot.

John flashed a quick smile, there one minute, gone the next. “Yeah, guys don’t talk about stuff like this, right? Rodney must have worked his magic on me, over the last thirty years you know I found myself talking about feelings at least once a decade?” Shaking his head, he smiled again. “Met Rodney because of Atlantis. That was good, one good thing to come out of it all. But he never got the Nobel he deserved, all ‘cause the fucking SGC wouldn’t let him publish anything about what he found in Pegasus.” Scrubbing a hand through his hair, making it stick up more than ever, he sighed, “So, yeah. I guess that’s the answer to why I told you guys stories. Just wanted to be sure somebody on this planet remembers the names that are important to me, even if they only think they’re bedtime stories made up by a senile old Air Force guy. My friends died out there, fighting the Wraith, the Replicators, we were at war, they died fighting and nobody cares, nobody even knows.”

“We know,” Stephen said quietly.

“Yeah,” John nodded, seemingly satisfied. “You know. Just don’t forget.”

“We won’t,” Stephen promised.

Some of the tension left John’s shoulders and his smile turned a degree or two warmer. “Thanks.”

“If you need anything, just call, okay?” As he said it, Stephen knew John wouldn’t call unless his life depended on it. And now, with Rodney gone, he might not call even then. He opened his mouth to protest that John really needed someone to help look after him but James and Connor, the two guys who’d wanted to join the Air Force, clattered into the kitchen, dress blues somehow out of place among the mismatched chairs and lopsided shelves.

John grinned and pretended to inspect them and Stephen made his escape. It wouldn’t be easy and might involve some creativity with passwords but he might be able to rig some way of contacting the other grown up kids via email or maybe even snail mail, to remind them of the stories and the men who’d told them.

John watched him go and heaved an internal sigh of relief. He’d done what he set out to do all those years ago. Now all he had to do was wait, enjoy the sunshine when it shone on his face and dream of the day he’d see Rodney again.


End file.
